Yule Brawled
by OtterAndTerrier
Summary: [COMPLETE - formerly "Acknowledging"] If anything, the Yule Ball was fodder for certain discoveries about themselves... and their infuriating best friend.
1. Realizing

**A/N:** Um... so this used to be "Acknowledging", as a stand-alone fic. But a while ago, I wrote a sort of prequel to it from Hermione's POV, because I think about GoF a lot (it's not like it's the book that made me start shipping RHr for real or anything).

I decided to post this one as a previous chapter instead of a separate story for the ones who wanted more, even if it won't be a multi-chapter but more of a series. I _might_ write more, also as connected one-shots about fourth year, and post them as following chapters. But because I can't promise anything and it won't happen for a while in any case, I ask you to please don't _demand_ that I do so. I started this one months ago and only finished it because of Romione Week on Tumblr, but I have other writings in line as well as real life stuff to work on. So while I really **love** and am grateful for reviews and people's continued interest in my fics, asking for more makes me kind of nervous. I'll write more, in time, don't you worry about it! :)

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**Summary:** A discussion about dates for the Yule Ball doesn't go too well, but Hermione didn't know why she was so upset at first. Perhaps there was something she had yet to acknowledge about her feelings towards Ron Weasley.

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**Realizing**

Hermione dropped her bag on top of her closed trunk more violently than was strictly necessary, causing her Potions book to jump out and fall with a thud onto the floor.

'Are you okay?' Lavender asked, stopping in the middle of rummaging through her own trunk and looking startled. Hermione hadn't seen her there, angry as she was.

'Fine,' she said, trying not to sound snappy. 'Don't worry about it.'

Lavender shrugged, grabbed what she had been looking for and left the room.

Hermione welcomed the solitude. She picked up her Potions book and left it next to her bag, then sat on her bed. She was not fine or even close to, thanks to one Ron Weasley and his sexist views on what would make a Yule Ball date worthy of him.

How _dare_ he! Did he think he was some gift to the eyes, that he fitted the standards of male beauty himself? She _knew_, deep down, that he didn't think that much of himself, yet apparently he expected no less than that from the girl he should hope to take to the Yule Ball, as some sort of adornment he could flaunt.

She felt so insulted. Ron's tact and sensitivity towards other people fit comfortably in a thimble, but still… Didn't he have the sense to realize that Hermione herself didn't fit those beauty standards he so looked for in a girl? That he had been practically implying _she _wouldn't be asked by anyone, because no boy in his right mind would deem her attractive?

Admittedly, she hadn't made a lot of fuss about the Yule Ball. It sounded like it was going to be fun, but being best friends with two fourteen-year-old boys who hated that kind of stuff didn't exactly prompt her to get excited and talk dresses. And although she could do that with Ginny now, Hermione hadn't considered the part about dates to be something to worry about. Until now.

Harry was the only one of the three of them who had to go with a partner to open the ball, after all. She had an inkling as to whom he might want to invite but, worst case scenario, she had thought of suggesting Ginny to go with him as friends. That left Ron and Hermione, who weren't obligated to bring anybody, to go together, also as friends.

Except Ron wanted to take a real date and, obviously, Hermione just wouldn't do.

Ugh, she could picture him already! Ron and his dimbo of a date, some Fleur Delacour with porcelain skin, silky blonde hair, and blue eyes like his own, who wouldn't stop giggling and making little shrieky noises as they passed her friends. She could picture Ron, too, grinning stupidly at his good luck but walking triumphantly into the Great Hall, ignoring Hermione, his so-called best friend, as if she was some sort of—

Troll.

That was the word he'd used, wasn't it? The voice that repeated it now was Ron's, too, and Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she stared at her knees.

She hadn't understood why she was so upset at first, although she knew it wasn't just about Ron's pretentious, boyish views. There had been something running deep that she couldn't quite get a hold on to, like when you wake up and try to remember a dream and you just know there was something else, something you're missing. Something you're not admitting to yourself.

As she imagined Ron, though, she finally saw it clearly for a moment, as if lit up by a flash of lightning that would leave everything in the dark again in seconds.

She had assumed she would go with Ron as a natural event, but she had also been looking forward to _going with Ron_. She'd thought the three of them and Ginny could have fun all together, but Harry would have to dance with Ginny at some point. Then Hermione and Ron would be alone, and they wouldn't just go sit down while everyone was dancing, would they? She hadn't imagined it as being a date-date, nothing even close to romantic… They would go as friends.

But when she pictured his stupid grinning face, it didn't look stupid at all. He would look besotted, and actually happy to be there. And for a moment—that was it, the flash of lightning—she looked at the girl next to him again and it was herself.

Hermione got up and walked dispiritedly to the shared dressing table, looking at her reflection in the ancient mirror. She raised a hand at her mass of brown hair, feeling the layer of frizz surround her head like a halo.

No, Ron wouldn't grin stupidly for her. Hermione was a _troll_, after all. She was not going to change, for him or for anyone; she wasn't going to add to her routine hair masks and foundation and strict diets _for a boy_. That had been part of the reason why going with Ron to the Yule Ball would have been so much simpler. He didn't need her hair to be sleek and shiny, her teeth to be small and her skin to be unblemished to like her. He liked her as she was, at her best and worst. Her beauty or lack of was not the foundation of their friendship. She would have put on make-up and her new dress robes for the occasion—she would still do it, even if nobody else invited her—but at the end of the day, Ron would know the person he was going with, and she would, too.

For months she had been trying to figure out some things, certain patterns she had observed in herself. Like the feeling in her stomach she'd had when Ron invited her to his house a couple of days earlier than Harry in the summer, or the way she sometimes caught herself looking at him for a bit longer than she ought to, or how she replayed even their silliest arguments in her head, and she claimed to herself she hated having that pointless, constant bickering with him, but at the same time it was sort of stimulating. Some part of her stubbornly insisted that she hadn't really known the answer this time, that she was only now realizing what it meant, while the rest of her whispered she'd only been fighting it.

Ron liked her as she was only because he saw her as a friend, while Hermione… she couldn't say the same anymore.


	2. Acknowledging

Someone on Tumblr asked whether there was a fic about Ron's inner monologue once he finds out Hermione is the person Krum would miss most, and I came up with this. The actual prompt is part of a flashback, as the story focuses on a different moment and a different sort of realization. I had fun writing this... hopefully I got Ron's voice moderately right (at least my innate tendency to swear comes in handy for these situations).

Thanks again to **jenahid** for helping me out, and thanks a lot to you for reading!

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**Summary:** During a certain Potions class in fourth year, Ron comes to a second realization about Hermione Granger.

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**Acknowledging**

Ron's ears felt like a couple of lit braziers set on either side of his head as he continued to pound his scarab beetles, the desk all to himself. It was a good thing Snape had sent Hermione to sit somewhere else, even if it meant she'd have to put up with that cow Pansy Parkinson; otherwise he'd...

Well, he didn't know what he would have done, or said to her. Maybe he didn't want to talk to Hermione at all.

He was just outraged by Krum's nerve. How did he _dare_ ask Hermione to visit him in freaking Bulgaria? They'd only been to _one_ date, one meaningless, pointless date to the Yule Ball, which all the kids at Hogwarts had attended, too, with their meaningless, pointless dates. It didn't really count as a date-date.

Ron was sure that Hermione hadn't gone out with Krum to Hogsmeade, for instance, because she'd always been with him and Harry. Had Hermione been seeing Krum behind their backs?

No, Ron decided, that was ridiculous. The only times when Hermione was not with him and Harry was when she had her other classes, or when she was at the library. Or when she went to the bathroom. Or to bed. All places where Krum would not follow her, unless he was some creepy stalker.

Which he might well be, from what Ron had heard. What kind of psycho would invite a fifteen-year-old girl to his place in a whole different country after knowing her for only two months? Less than that: _one date_. He'd had one date to know Hermione. Ron had known Hermione for almost four years—and Harry, too, of course. She would _not_ have said yes to that. She couldn't have. It was barmy.

He snapped his head up, glaring at Hermione's profile a couple of desks forward to his right as if daring her to attest to her mental health. She was still red in the face, but stubbornly working on her potion. Ron realized she was doing her best to ignore Parkinson, who looked like she was talking to herself but was in fact muttering stupid remarks to Hermione.

Krum did stalk Hermione in the library, though, before he invited her to the Yule Ball, and she had said yes anyway, even though it sounded really disturbing to Ron. But going to Bulgaria? She'd have to be bonkers to take up on that offer.

The idea of Hermione meeting up with Krum in a secluded spot of the library did nothing to pale the colour of his ears. What if the bloke wanted to snog her and she didn't? Krum was so much older than Hermione, and from Durmstrang. Everybody knew what _those_ were on about. What if he tried to force her?

Ron cursed under his breath as he realized he'd cut one of his ginger roots wrong. An unwilling memory crept back into his mind: they had been at McGonagall's office, where Dumbledore explained that the task for the champions was to rescue each of them from the lake. He supposed that made much more sense than if it'd been an actual possession; otherwise a Summoning Charm would do the trick and they wouldn't need to risk their lives over something like a broomstick. But what Ron didn't understand was why both Hermione and he were there. The song said that the merpeople would take something—someone, they now knew—that the champions would miss. Did they know that Harry wouldn't choose between his two friends? That seemed only fair, except that Harry would have to drag both of them out of the lake, and he didn't even know if he was going to make it into the water at all.

It had been only the two of them and Cho Chang waiting at first; Fleur Delacour's sister had arrived minutes later, and Ron assumed Krum's person was coming from his home country, too. But once the little girl entered alone, after getting a long hug from her mother—a carbon copy of Fleur—Dumbledore told them to lie down on the floor, and Ron frowned. Was he not entering this challenge? Was there no one Krum would miss?

He had glanced at Hermione then, to exchange a questioning look and perhaps receive a shrug in response, but she was avoiding his gaze and blushing. It had hit him, then. Ron sat slowly on the floor and lay down like they were told to, but it was more because he felt dizzy and sick than anything else. When Dumbledore asked if they had any final questions, he'd wanted to scream, '_Yes! How are you letting this happen? He doesn't even know her! How can she be the thing he'd miss the most?_'

He groped blindly for a new root, his mouth twisting in response to the sinking sensation he felt on his stomach.

This all had been a mistake, a big misunderstanding. Hermione should have never gone to the Yule Ball with Krum, not more than Ron with Padma Patil. He knew he'd said he'd rather go with someone like Fleur, but it was different for guys. He'd just wanted to strut into the Great Hall, looking good for once in his life and with someone cool next to him. Get a kiss by the end of the night, if things went well. No more than that. But girls expected more, he thought, so it was bad that Hermione had showed up with Krum. She should have gone with Ron, so they could join Harry and have a blast. They belonged together. _Well, with Harry, too, of course!,_ he added, alarmed. But even when Harry wasn't around, he and Hermione got along well, generally. What did she and bloody Vicky even talked about? The wanker didn't even know how to pronounce her name right!

Ron slammed his knife so forcefully on the desk that another mark was now imprinted on the wood, next to the one he'd left earlier with his pestle. A few heads turned around, but not Hermione. He thought he saw her flinching.

He had no right. Krum had _no right_ to come and sweep Hermione off her feet and whisk her off to Bulgaria or anywhere else. Of course any girl would fall for his foreign looks, his older-guy experience and his fame, but that didn't mean he should just take his pick and do as he wanted. And what could Ron do about it? He had already warned her, and Hermione didn't want to listen. He knew that the more he insisted against it, the more Hermione wouldn't want to listen. That was just the way they worked. Perhaps if Ron started encouraging her to go out with Krum, she'd stop seeing him altogether. _Right_, he thought bitterly. As if he'd ever do that.

Encourage her, never, but he could try Harry's attitude of not giving a rat's arse. Ron knew he would have a hard time doing it, though, while Harry genuinely didn't seem to care who Hermione went out with. And why did he, Ron, care?

Well... He didn't. He wouldn't. He cared like big brothers did, because he would do the same with Ginny, but Hermione didn't seem to appreciate it and she was not his sister.

_Hermione was not his sister_.

Ron glanced at Hermione again, tossing his properly cut roots into the cauldron. It was a good thing his friend was still avoiding looking at him as much she avoided Pansy.

The realization hit him just like when he'd voiced his acknowledgement of Hermione belonging to the female sex. Of course he'd known both things. He wasn't _that_ thick. It was simply that it was different, knowing than acknowledging. Knowing was like, knowing that the sky is blue and the grass green. You just know it; you see it every day, but you keep going. Sometimes, though, you stop and look up, and you notice that that there are clouds, or that the blue is so intense it seems unreal, or that there's a soft glow that paints everything pink and yellow. That was acknowledging, when you saw something under a new light.

And, Ron had to admit to himself, seeing Hermione under a new light scared him.


End file.
